


Medical Bikers' Journal

by therealfroggy



Category: House M.D.
Genre: Inanimate Object Porn, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-18
Updated: 2012-12-18
Packaged: 2017-11-21 12:22:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,173
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/597708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/therealfroggy/pseuds/therealfroggy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sequel to <em>The Princeton-Plainsborogh Bikers Club</em>. House wants Wilson to ride his bike again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Medical Bikers' Journal

“Let me take you to work.”

“House, you're never in the hospital until after nine, unless you've got a case in progress. It's not even eight in the morning, which alone is enough to make me suspicious where you are concerned. Give me one good reason why I shouldn't fear for my life right now.”

The diagnostician grinned. “You know perfectly well that I just want you to ride with me on the bike, Jimmy.”

Wilson did a double take. “And since when do you get up an hour earlier in the morning to have what you want? That, in the world of Greg House, is idiocy!”

“Maybe I really, really want you to ride with me,” House said, holding out the other helmet to Wilson. His own was hanging from his wrist by the chin strap. “Come on. Get on the bike.”

Wilson sighed. House exasperated him to his limits some days, but then again, they both enjoyed riding the bike. House enjoyed it a little too much, and Wilson wasn't far behind.

Giving in, the younger man shrugged and accepted the helmet. He pulled it on, and struggled a little before getting his document folder stuffed into House's backpack. For comfort reasons, Wilson carried that when he rode with House.

As soon as they were both on the bike, Wilson's arms securely around House's waist, the older man rushed the engine and they took off.

Wilson closed his eyes and buried his face against House's shoulder, trying to relieve the sting of the icy wind. The vibrations of the bike's engine were too strong for decency; it was like having a sex toy between your legs.

Which, of course, it was – to House, anyway.

House leaned down low, and Wilson followed him. His cock was pressed against House's jeans-clad ass, their bodies folding together, and Wilson was sure this felt just as good as actually fucking House – which he'd done, on a number of occasions.

A red light obstructed their path, and as House stopped and put down his good leg to keep the bike upright, Wilson tightened his grip on the older man just a little. They were warm together, pressed close and shielded by coat and leather jacket.

House let the engine roar. Wilson moaned against his friend's shoulder; the engine felt like it was right between his legs and trying to fuck him. It actually felt rather like House. House pushed back a little, and Wilson felt their hips fit together unevenly and too perfect.

The light turned green, and they took off again. Wilson was doing his level best not to let his hand slide down to cup House through his jeans, just to feel if he was as hard as Wilson. He just clung tight to the older man, breathing in the scent of the bike and House's leather jacket, and concentrated on not letting the sound and vibrations finish him off.

House parked in the same parking garage he had when Wilson had first seen him and the bike. Or, perhaps _on_ the bike would be more appropriate. Though to House, the bike was undoubtedly something sexual. Which turned Wilson on to no end.

House didn't switch the engine off, but removed his helmet. “Fuck me.”

Wilson quickly removed his own safety device. “What?”

“Not really,” House explained, grinning. “We don't have condoms and lube. Just...” The rest of his sentence was drowned by the roar of the engine as House revved it.

Wilson groaned, grabbing House's hips. He held them still, grinding a little against House's ass and the bike's seat. “Fuck.”

“Yeah,” House agreed. He let his head fall forwards as Wilson nipped at the nape of his neck. He kicked the support down so his leg wouldn't have to take all the weight. “Jimmy, let's have bike sex.”

Wilson's teeth scraped over the little bump formed just where House's spine bent between his neck and back. He kissed wetly over the same area, hands harshly grabbing House's hips. The engine was driving him mad between his legs; House's jeans were driving him mad just above it. He drove their hips together, grunting into the skin of House's neck.

“Greg,” he muttered, “we'll be late for work.”

“I'm always late, no one will suspect me,” House moaned, pressing back against Wilson. “Touch me. Now.”

Wilson complied; he finally slid his hand down to feel House, rubbing him slowly. The older man was harder than Wilson had imagined, and the oncologist grinned. They both had a seriously unhealthy relationship to that bike.

“Make me come,” House demanded, grinding between Wilson's covered erection, the bike and Wilson's hand. “Make me come in my pants like a teenager.”

With a loud moan, Wilson pressed his hand harder down on House's cock and ground faster. The engine roared one more time and they groaned in stereo. With one last, insistent stroke, Wilson had House coming, jerking and shuddering against the younger man.

“Jimmy!”

Wilson whimpered. He rocked against House until he felt dizzy with the pleasure of it. And then House gave the bike full throttle and Wilson's orgasm reverberated through him in time with the cylinders and wheels and other mechanic stuff going haywire underneath the two men.

Wilson whimpered, clinging to House and feeling wetness spread in his trousers. _Oh, fuck!_

House finally killed the engine, and Wilson let out a shaky sigh. “House.”

“Mm.”

“We've got wet stains.”

House looked back at Wilson over his shoulder, a hellish grin on his face. “So we do.”

“Well... I've got patients,” Wilson said. “And my other change of clothes is in my office.”

“Then let's stop by your office before we have coffee in the cafeteria,” House said cheerfully. “Now get off the bike. I'll bet he's just as tired as us.”

Wilson laughed and got off. Luckily for him, he wore a coat, and if he pulled it a little tighter around himself, it should cover the stain – until he got to his office, anyway.

House, however, was not so lucky. His stain was quite obvious. Until he let himself fall casually on his ass in the nearest heap of snow outside the parking garage, rolled over and got his jeans soaking wet from top to bottom. Then he threw a large snowball at Wilson, just for fun, and struggled to his feet.

“Now they won't see my stain,” he commented, chuckling. “And your hair won't be fluffy again today, if ever.”

Wilson, grousing over the havoc wreaked on his hair by the helmet and snow combined, followed House into the hospital, and then watched the older man explain to Cuddy just how he'd gotten his jeans sogging wet. The Dean of Medicine told him to go change before he got sick.

House gave Wilson a wink and they headed up for their offices.

“It's a good thing that parking garage doesn't share security with the hospital. Now, Wilson. Why don't you draw the blinds so we can get me out of these wet clothes?”


End file.
